Dozen of roses
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: Her conviction seemed too bright but she couldn't help it. WK fic.


Her efforts would be rewarded one day. She had this conviction boiling into her veins that eased her doubts and worries. Unless it was only a matter of subconscious in order to bear the inevitable reality and so she preferred to live into her beautiful dreams.

It was a permanent control of her mind, a daily attention to the slight word she could use, the way she didn't look at him and hid her feelings behind the exasperation of a sigh; the indifference of her smiles. Her hazel eyes kept safe the whole machination and the subtle sweetness that used to feed her heart and go bewitchingly to her head. When vodka reaches your mouth and embraces your blood to get your thoughts blurry and make your life brighter, you feel dizzy and warm; a bit addicted perhaps. The years had passed by but her fascination had remained intact, a beloved silence accompanying her wishes and the hope that one day, she would find herself in his arms.

It's the story of a lipstick that slides along her lips and as she closes her eyes, she pictures his kiss and the warmth of his body against her lonely one. A drop of perfume runs through her skin unless she confuses the liquid with the softness of his fingertips. Her existence turned once into a mysterious fantasy; she gave up the reality of the events for the glimmering state of a daydream and even if it's sharp because impossible, she doesn't want to come backwards and forget about it, about him.

The plot wasn't about how Karen had fallen for Will but how the intricate paths of her soul always led her to him, whatever she chose to do, wherever she happened to be.

She had stopped making plans because they all ended up crashing and a day-to-day life was way more exciting as a matter of fact. She pouted and looked at her own reflection in the mirror of the greenhouse, a cigarette in her hand, the blindness of love lighting up her eyes. It was only a matter of time before he realized that she could be his. He may even have been on his way at this exact moment, to tell her about his love and his wishes to spend the rest of his life with her, murmuring to her ear that she would always be the only one.

But the stars in the sky slowly faded away, one more time, and she headed towards her bed still waiting for his presence; he could have irrupted at any moment, any time though he never did and she swallowed back her cries thinking that the next day would be the right one.

It's about a soft knock on the door and the scent of some petals. She learned how to recognize the sweetness of a gesture for a very long while. Sometimes she even manages to anticipate them and quietly she enjoys every second of their charms. There's no need to drink or pretend she's someone else, she just opens her heart to life and allows herself to look like Karen, the one nobody knows; she opens her eyes. It's a sunny day that caresses softly the streets of New York. The breeze is warm and soft, sliding through the hair and kissing her nape.

A rose is resting on her bedside table, next to a note: be my Valentine.

She smiles.

They had too much in common to miss out the lines. From the backseat of her limousine she stared blankly at the streets, her face passing like a ghost through the unknown world going on outside. She was thinking about him, how his hand could hold hers tight right now if only he dared. She wasn't that different and needed the contact of human relationships to get self-confidence and prove she deserved it.

The story would be settled during an evening in the middle of February. The pace of her heartbeats had reached the illusions of her mind when she had noticed that they would have a dinner for Valentine's Day. She loved those coincidences that made her existence unique and the non-sense of her feelings would always be there to point out it was her destiny. She played along, invaded their teasing gazes through a childish behaviour that was reassuring and kept on dreaming that he was the one who had sent her the missive accompanying the rose; the delicate scent of care floating in the air, rocking her lovingly.

It wasn't about romanticism but an irrepressible need to be loved by him. It could have been raining on some weekday morning that she didn't care, as long as he would end up capturing her lips into a soft kiss.

She puts down her drink and lights a cigarette, looking at the dark sky and New York City buildings. Her fingers brush subconsciously the brick wall on which she leans. She likes this place, the role she has chosen in their story. A soft sound in the background and he joins her on the terrace for an intimate moment of quietness. She doesn't say a word, just smiles at him then looks down in the street.

Do you like roses? Jack sent me one this morning.

She laughs, almost relieved.

He does that every year. He's so sweet.

She closed her eyes when the bitterness of her existence hit her mind and she felt the tears ready to fall down on her face. Why was she always so wrong, about everything? He didn't pay attention to her and her invisible emotions couldn't but remain trapped into her anonymous person unless she made a step forward and told him about the craziness of her fantasies.

Don't be sad…

She shook her head, smiling vaguely; then sighed.

I'm not, honey.

Then why are you running away from me?

She frowned and looked down at her feet. Her voice sounded weak but determined, a veil of resolution embracing the words that came from her heart.

Because I love you, Will.

She plunged her eyes in his.

I love you, honey.

She fails into his arms and drops out her dreams when reality wraps her body and he captures her lips in a lovely kiss.

Karen didn't need a dozen of roses as long as she would be with Will.


End file.
